


Coming Home

by astano



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 20:17:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astano/pseuds/astano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: When Rachel agrees to return to McKinley for a few weeks to tutor Santana Lopez, things don't turn out exactly how she expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Liberties have been taken with the US college system, because I know nothing more than what I could learn with a five minute Google search. I apologise.

Rachel calls her dad from the airport to let him know she’s about to board and check he’s still okay to pick her up at the other end. They’d come up to collect the majority of her belongings the week before, but Rachel had decided to stick around in New York for a little while longer as, although she’d finished her finals early, her roommate, Katie, was still studying and they had made plans to celebrate once Katie had also finished her exams. Now everything’s done, and the celebrations are over, she’s headed back to Lima for the majority of her summer break.

Her dad finally picks up his phone, and after being reassured that he’s not forgotten (“How could I ever forget the date my little girl’s coming home?”), she heads through the final security check and boards her flight home.

It’s not a particularly long flight, but Rachel still manages to fall asleep. She’s always been a sleepy passenger and usually drops off within minutes of setting out on any extended journey. She’s shaken gently awake by an air hostess once they land and disembarks in a sleep-induced haze.

Her dad is waiting, as promised, and once she clears security and baggage claim, she makes her way to him with a wide smile on her face, and is immediately crushed into a hug.

“Dad—Dad!” She says, laughing and pushing at his chest. “You only saw me a week ago.”

“Doesn’t mean I haven’t missed you,” he says before kissing her cheek.

“I missed you too,” she replies. “Where’s Daddy?”

“He had to work, sweetie, but he promised to be home early this evening so we can have a family night, just like old times.”

Rachel just about manages to stop a pout form forming, then grabs at the handle of her suitcase, pulling it along behind her as they make their way to her dad’s car.

-

“I bumped into Mr. Schuester at the grocery store last week,” her dad says about ten minutes into their drive home.

“Oh? How is he?”

“Good. He said glee club has a shot at Nationals again this year. In fact, they’re looking for someone to help coach in the run up to the competition. Apparently they have a very talented girl—Santana, I think her name is—but she’s never had any formal training. They’re looking for someone to do a little one-on-one coaching with her. Mr. Schuester seems to think she’s really quite something.”

“That’s interesting.”

“I said I’d mention it to you. It’s only a month of work and—“

“Dad!” Rachel interrupts, shooting him an exasperated glare. “I was really just looking forward to spending some quality time with the sofa, my DVD collection and a few pints of ice-cream for the first few weeks of break.”

“I didn’t tell him you’d do it, sweetie. Just that I’d mention it to you.”

“Well, you’ve mentioned it to me now and I’m saying no.”

“Say you’ll think about it?”

Rachel lets out a huff. She knows when her dad gets it into his head that something is going to be a good experience for her, he never lets it die. “I’ll think about it,” she says. “Happy?”

-

Mr. Schue seems genuinely excited to hear from her, which Rachel thinks is funny since he seemed hell bent on destroying her future career for the vast majority of the time she spent in glee club. She spends a good fifteen minutes talking about her first two years at NYADA, how different an environment it is to high school and how pleased she was when she got cast in their spring production earlier that year.

She finally gets around to her reason for calling and tells him about her dad mentioning they were looking for someone for a few weeks.

“We’d love to have you back, Rachel,” Mr. Schue says. “I’m sure your talent and experience would be very useful to us and the kids will be pleased to see a new face around.”

Rachel doubts the latter, but she’s never been able to say no when someone compliments her talent and so, before she realises what she’s doing, she agrees to come to the meeting the following Monday and take things from there.

-

Their success at Nationals in Rachel’s final year must have improved the standing of glee club, because when Rachel arrives at the meeting on Monday afternoon, there are at least fifteen students there, possibly closer to twenty.

Mr. Schue is already at the front of the group, and when he sees her walk in, he smiles and gestures her over.

“Guys,” he says to the club. “This is Rachel. I’m not sure if any of you remember her?” He pauses and couple of the older kids nod their heads in recognition. Rachel smiles over at them, she doesn’t remember their faces, but that’s only to be expected as they were probably only freshmen when she was a senior. “She’s here to help out for the next four weeks, so listen to what she has to say and hopefully she’ll help us take Nationals, just like she did when she was a member of this club.”

There are a few excited noises at the mention of nationals and Rachel can’t help but be impressed by their enthusiasm.

“Okay,” Mr. Schue says and waits for the room to become quiet again. “Today we’re going have the first round of performances for the duet assignment I set you last week—Rachel, I thought that would give you the opportunity to hear what we’ve got.”

“Of course, “ Rachel says then goes to take a seat on the risers, smiling in greeting at the people on either side of her.

“Right, Stacey, Owen, why don’t you start us off?”

Rachel watches as a small, blonde girl, who looks to only be a freshman, and a taller—almost on the verge of lanky—boy get up and move to the front of the choir room. They perform a passable duet of  _I’ve Had the Time of My Life_ , but there’s not much chemistry and Rachel can’t help but find it boring.

She claps, along with everyone else, when the couple have finished singing and listens to Mr. Schue’s praise. After a couple more performances, Rachel’s feeling a little better about the group’s chances; they definitely have some talent in both the singing and dancing department.

The final duet of the day is the one Rachel’s been wanting to see. The girl she’s supposed to be working with, Santana, gets up to perform with another girl called Quinn. The song isn’t something Rachel immediately recognises, but it’s got a good beat and she can’t help but bob her head along with it.

Quinn’s sitting in a chair in the middle of the floor, almost primly—back straight, legs together and hands clasped on top of them. Santana, on the other hand, is moving around Quinn, trailing her hand over the back of Quinn’s chair, coming to the front to run fingertips along Quinn’s cheek before throwing a smirk at the audience.

It’s not dancing, it’s more like a seduction, and Rachel can’t drag her eyes away.

Then she starts to sing. Her voice has a husky, raw quality to it that sends shivers throughout Rachel’s body. Santana is  _good_ , really good, and Rachel thinks that with a few pointers on the proper breathing techniques and the right vocal exercises to practice, she could be even better.

Almost too soon, Rachel thinks, the girls stop singing and she realises she doesn’t remember hearing Quinn sing at all. It doesn’t matter—Santana is obviously their ticket to a Nationals win, all the others are just background performers in comparison.

Mr. Schue claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “That was wonderful, girls,” he says. “And that’s all for today. I’ll see you all back here on Wednesday and we’ll hear the rest of the performances then.”

There’s a loud rustle of movement then as everyone packs their things up and gets ready to leave. Rachel rises from her seat and moves to where Mr. Schue is gathering up some sheet music at the front of the room.

“I’d like to have a quick word with Santana,” she says and he nods at her before calling out the girl’s name and beckoning her over.

Before Mr. Schue even has chance to say anything, Rachel says, “You were  _amazing_ Santana, really amazing.” She’s almost gushing, but she can’t seem to help it, there was just something about Santana’s voice that she can’t get over.

“I know,” Santana replies with a smirk. “I heard you were pretty good in your time here, maybe we could sing together some time. It’ll be better than singing with any of these losers.”

“Santana,” Mr. Schue reprimands. “That’s not very nice.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

Mr. Schue shakes his head, giving Santana a disapproving look, but doesn’t say anything further, just puts the last of the sheet music away and heads for the door. “I’ll be in the teacher’s lounge if you need anything,” he says to Rachel and she nods before turning back to Santana.

“I don’t know if Mr. Schue told you,” Rachel says, “but I’ve been brought in to work with you one-on-one in the run up to Nationals.”

“Hmm. One-on-one’s kinda the best way to work, don’t you think?” Santana replies and Rachel can’t help the light colouring of her cheeks at the suggestive tone in Santana’s voice, but she does her best to ignore it—given the way she was dancing around Quinn earlier, Rachel’s willing to bet Santana’s an outrageous flirt and probably enjoys getting others all wound up, so she thinks it’s probably best not to engage.

“I‘m going to work with you once a week,” she says instead, “so I was thinking, we should probably spend half of each session going over some techniques to help you perform better, and then when the set list has been decided—which  _really_ should have happened by now, I can’t believe Mr. Schue hasn’t learned that preparation really is key to a win—we can perfect your performance.”

Santana’s smirking again when Rachel finishes speaking—and really, what is it with that girl and her constant need to smirk—so she just raises her eyebrows slightly in question.

“It’s cute how you still call Mr. Schue Mr. Schue,” she says. “You’re like, a teacher now, you could probably call him by his first name.”

“I’m not technically a teacher,” Rachel replies. “I’m just here to help out for a few weeks.”

“So does that mean you can’t give me detention for misbehaving?”

Rachel shakes her head, although she doesn’t know why she’s telling Santana this, she should really be at least attempting to keep an illusion of authority.

“So, if I wanted,” Santana says, edging herself closer to Rachel, causing Rachel to step back in turn, eyes darting around Santana’s face as the girl continues to speak. “I could tell you that ever since you walked through the door, I’ve been wondering what it would be like to just push you up against the piano and kiss you until you don’t even know your own name, and there’s absolutely nothing you could do about it?”

Santana’s fingertips graze the bare skin of Rachel’s arm as she finishes speaking and Rachel exhales shakily. “I would hope,” Rachel starts, then clears her throat, because just  _when_ did her voice become that croaky? She tries again, “I would hope, Santana, that it wouldn’t take the threat of detention for you to realise that what you just said was entirely inappropriate. I may not be a teacher, but I am in a position of care over you.”

“I’m sorry,  _Ms._ Berry,” Santana says, and the emphasis on the ‘Ms.’ is not lost on Rachel. “Maybe you’d like to punish me, after all? I’m sure you can think of something suitable.”

“How about I just see you tomorrow, Santana,” Rachel says, and she’s really quite proud of the fact that her voice comes out pretty normal this time around. “We can work on some scales and some breathing exercises.”

“If that’s what you want,” Santana replies, and to Rachel’s relief, she puts some distance between them, moving across the choir room to pick up her bag. Just as she’s about to leave the room, however, she turns, a smile hovering at the corners of her mouth. “I was serious, by the way,” she says. “About doing a duet. I think we’d have some serious chemistry and we would sound awesome.”

And as Rachel stands there, still slightly in shock from the entirety of their conversation, she can’t find a single part of her brain that disagrees.

-

When Rachel gets home later that evening, she’s greeted with an unexpected visitor gracing her front porch.

Puck jumps up from where he was reclining on the bottom step and sprints forward, immediately encasing her in a fierce hug.

“Noah!” She manages to gasp out, after several seconds of being held in his grip. “Let me go before you suffocate me!”

Puck laughs, pulling away from the hug, but holding Rachel at arms length, scanning the length of her body. “I’ve missed you,” he says. “Let’s go get drunk and celebrate your return.”

Laughing, Rachel takes his hand and pulls him into the house after her. “Let me get changed into something more suitable,” she says. Puck’s eyebrows raise into an over-exaggerated leer and Rachel smacks him playfully in the chest. She knows he doesn’t mean anything by it. They might have dated for a while during high school, but both of them realised they made far better friends than they did anything else.

“Wait here,” she says, pushing him down onto her sofa. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

She runs upstairs and quickly selects a top and skirt combination that looks more suitable to an evening out than the clothes she wore to the glee club meeting. She doesn’t bother with her hair, just running her fingers through it a few times to give it a little bounce, and only applies the barest hint of makeup. It takes her all of ten minutes, and Puck’s still in the process of getting comfortable when she heads back down.

“I’d forgotten you could do that,” he says when he spots her fussing with her bag out by the kitchen.

She shrugs and smiles at him, years of rushed changes between scenes have left her with the ability to get ready in no time. She links her arm with his when he comes over to stand next to her and leads them both out to his truck.

He drives them to the nearest bar and Rachel grabs a booth for them while Puck orders them both drinks. Neither of them are actually old enough to be drinking, but Puck assured her she won’t get carded and he comes here often enough that Rachel hears the bartender greet him by name.

“So, how are you doing, Noah?” She asks once he’s back with the drinks—beer for him and a vodka and cranberry juice for her. “How’s the business doing? I heard from Mike and Brittany that you took on a couple more employees last summer.”

“Yeah, a couple kids from school. It’s doing good. Enough for me to live and shit, anyway.”

Rachel wants to tell him she’s proud of him, but thinks it might come of sounding condescending, so just squeezes his arm and gives him a smile.

“How’re things with you?” He asks then. “I heard you’re going back to McKinley? Couldn’t get enough of the place, huh?”

“I wouldn’t quite go that far,” Rachel says. “Let’s just say that between my dad and Mr. Schue, I didn’t really get a say in the matter.” She pauses to take a drink, watching the swirling red liquid for a second before continuing. “The girl I’m supposed to be tutoring—Santana—she’s... well, she’s something.”

“She good?”

“Yeah—almost as good as I was. I don’t think she’s got quite the same range, though. But her voice, it’s so raw. And there’s something—” Rachel trails off, thinking again of their encounter after glee club had ended.

“What?” Puck looks at her curiously and Rachel knows he’s going to continue prodding at her until she gives in an tells him what’s on her mind.

“She made a pass at me. After practice.”

Puck laughs loudly and Rachel glares at him. “Shit, Rach,” he manages in between gasps for air. “Is that all?”

“Noah! It’s really not very funny. I have to work with her and—and—she could make things difficult and incredibly awkward. I mean, how am I supposed to concentrate on giving her lessons when I’m constantly wondering what she’s thinking about doing to me. She said she wanted to push me up against the piano and—really, she was incredibly inappropriate.”

“I can’t say I blame her for the piano thing,” Puck says, still with a stupid grin on his face.

“Ugh! I don’t know why I bother with you!” Rachel says, tossing her hair and turning to face the bar, lips set in a firm line of disapproval.

“You love me s’why,” he says, slinging an arm around her shoulder and squeezing tight.

“Yeah, well perhaps I’m rethinking my feelings about that now.”

“Aww, c’mon. We can change the subject if you don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Rachel half turns, looking at him with raised eyebrows. “I just need to know one thing first,” he continues. “Is she hot?”

Rachel flushes, she can’t help it, because the answer is yes and she knows it’s entirely inappropriate on her end to find the girl attractive, but damn it, she has eyes and she can’t deny an obvious truth.

“I say go for it,” Puck says after a few seconds of watching her squirm under his gaze. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

_I could get arrested_ , Rachel thinks. But she doesn’t say anything, just takes another sip of her drink, willing the redness in her cheeks to fade away.

-

It’s not something that Rachel dwells on too much for the next couple of days. Santana’s attractive, sure. She’s made no mistake about her interest in Rachel. But it’s not like Rachel has no self control. And the crazy habit she had in high school of becoming attached to any person who showed an interest in her has long since been overcome.

So. Santana might cross her mind once or twice, but that’s more because she’s trying to come up with the perfect plan for their lessons.

Rachel spends the vast majority of her time between glee club meetings catching up with her dads and watching trashy daytime television. It’s fun and relaxing, but Rachel’s not a very sedentary person when it comes down to it, and despite the fuss she kicked up when her dad first suggested she help out, she’s glad she’s got something to occupy her time.

-

The first part of Wednesday’s meeting is spent watching the final duet performances, then the group splits up to work on their next mini project. She and Santana head off to the auditorium to give themselves a little privacy and a quieter environment in which to work.

The first thing Rachel does is sit down at the piano and shuffle through the notes she brought with her. There are some instructions on regular vocal exercises Santana can do to strengthen her voice and a couple of sheets of tips on advanced breathing control. She thinks they can probably go over the notes together for today and that will probably be enough to take them to the end of the meeting.

Surprisingly, Santana’s actually ready to listen, and after going through some of the more complex exercises, Rachel’s happy to let Santana go off to practice on her own. She jots down her number for Santana to save in her phone, telling her to call if she has any questions about the more advanced exercises.

-

Santana’s just finished packing her things away and is about to leave when Rachel calls out to her. “Why didn’t you join glee while I was around?” She asks. “I mean, when I was a senior, you must have been, what? A freshman? Sophomore? You could have joined.”

Santana laughs then says, “I thought you sucked. Everyone did, but I’m sure you already knew that. Then you didn’t suck quite so bad, and when you were winning trophies it suddenly became okay to be part of the club.”

“So popularity’s important to you?” Rachel asks.

“Yes. No—” Santana rolls her eyes and lets out a short laugh. “It was. I—I thought being popular would mean I was protected from the jackasses of the school. That if I was at the top, people would be too scared to try and bring me down. That I could hide the fact that I was gay until I could get out of this lame ass town. And then—well—”

Rachel reaches out, setting her hand on Santana’s arm, thumb stroking at the skin. “Then, what?”

“Well, let’s just say that last year wasn’t exactly a good year for me.”

Rachel nods and holds Santana’s gaze for the first time since the conversation started. “The important thing is that you’re doing okay now,” she says, then cringes when she realises how that sounds, but Santana just smiles at her and says, “I‘m—yeah. I’m more than okay now.”

-

It must be late when her phone wakes her because there’s no light coming from under her door, which means her daddy’s gone to bed and that doesn’t usually happen until after midnight. She reaches out blindly and grabs at the phone, swiping across the screen and bringing it to her ear.

“Hello,” she mumbles, then clears her throat when her voice comes out thick with sleep.

“I’m sorry,” the voice on the other end of the line says. “You don’t know me, but I’ve got Santana with me. She’s drunk and she needs a ride home. She told me to call you.”

Rachel’s momentarily struck dumb, she has no idea why Santana’s asking for _her_ of all people to go get her. But she can’t just say no. What if Santana gets stranded? Or decides to attempt to drive herself home? “Uh,” she says after a second. “Yeah. Where are you?”

She memorises the address—Lima’s not that big, so she’s pretty sure she knows where she’s going—then says she’ll be there soon. After pulling on some clothes and leaving a note for her dads on her pillow, just in case they decide to look in on her, she heads out.

When she pulls up outside the house, she sees Santana sitting on the curb, playing with her phone, and it takes Rachel opening the passenger door and calling out for Santana to notice her. When she does, she gets up and walks to the car, sliding into the seat with an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry for dragging you out here,” she says.

“It’s okay,” Rachel replies, pressing her palm briefly against Santana’s shoulder. “I’d rather you get home safe than be stranded or worse.”

“I’m not even really drunk.” At Rachel’s look, she adds, “Yeah, I’ve had too much to drive, but I’m not wasted. I would have walked home, but no one would let me, said I had to call someone to come pick me up and—my parents are away a lot and Quinn isn’t—you were the only person I could think of.”

“It’s okay, Santana,” Rachel says again. “Really.”

Santana nods and then just seems to curl in on herself, resting her head against the window and staring out at the road ahead as Rachel pulls away. Rachel slides her eyes over to Santana a couple of times as she drives. She’s pretty sure Santana’s just tired, but she’s keeping an eye on her just in case.

After a few minutes of driving, Rachel realises she doesn’t actually know where Santana lives—she’s just been driving in the general direction of her own home. When she asks for directions, Santana gives her an address, and Rachel’s surprised to learn that they don’t live too far apart.

Within a few minutes, they’re pulling up outside Santana’s house and Rachel throws the car into park and shuts off the engine.

“Thank you,” Santana says. “I know we don’t really know each other all that well, so yeah. You didn’t have to come get me and—”

“You’re welcome,” Rachel interrupts, then just as Santana’s reaching for the door handle, Rachel grasps her arm, pulling her into a hug. Her arms wrap around Santana, holding her close, and she almost can’t help the urge to press a kiss against Santana’s hair. “I like you, Santana. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, so I’m glad you called.”

“You like me, huh,” Santana says, drawing back a little to give Rachel a sly smile. “I knew it!”

“Go home, already,” Rachel replies, but she’s smiling too and her hands are still holding Santana and she can’t seem to let go. Santana feels  _good_ in her arms, like she fits, and it’s kind of a ridiculous thought to be having, but Rachel can’t help it. They’re pressed close enough together that she can feel the rise and fall of Santana’s chest against her own, can feel how her breathing is increasing the longer they stay like this. And it’s been too long, too long for a friendly hug goodnight. Rachel knows that, Santana knows that, but neither of them are moving.

Except Santana does move, only she’s moving closer, her eyes drift once then twice from Rachel’s eyes to her mouth and Rachel’s tongue flicks out without her permission, moistening her lips. Santana pauses, the barest breath away from Rachel, like she’s asking permission, but Rachel can’t do anything, she  _can’t_ give permission, but she also can’t bring herself to move away.

“Please—” Santana starts to say, but as she forms the word, her lips brush against Rachel’s, and Rachel’s breath catches in her throat. She wouldn’t be able to say who actually closes the distance between them, but it doesn’t really matter.

What does matter is the light pressure of Santana’s mouth on hers, it’s a feeling that’s better than anything she could have anticipated, and Rachel just wants  _more_. She parts her lips slightly, sliding out her tongue to run over Santana’s bottom lip. Santana groans low in her throat and Rachel feels the vibrations all the way through her body.

It’s crazy how worked up she’s getting just from a simple kiss and the feel of Santana’s hands clutching against her back. They shouldn’t be doing this,  _god_ , they shouldn’t be doing this. It’s wrong on so many different levels, if not actually illegal, but Santana whimpers when Rachel slides their tongues together, and it’s such an amazing sound—quite possibly the hottest thing she’s ever heard—that Rachel finds it really difficult to care.

She’s still not caring moments later, when Santana’s working lips along her jaw, pressing kisses down to her neck, while hands reach under her shirt to caress bare skin. It’s only when Santana drags her hands over Rachel’s sides and up to trace the underside of her breasts—because of course, getting dressed in a hurry meant she’d forgone a bra—that Rachel finds it in herself to protest.

“Santana,” she says, and it’s meant to sound something like stern, but comes out sounding  _broken_. She clears her throat and tries again. “Santana, please. We can’t.”

Surprisingly, Santana pulls back, quickly moving fully to her own side of the car. “I just wanted to give you something to think about,” she says, and the smirk on her face is both the sexiest thing Rachel’s ever seen and the most infuriating.

Rachel splutters, searching for words as Santana continues to smirk at her. Finally Rachel just shakes her head and Santana reaches for the door handle and gets out of the car. 

“Goodnight, Ms. Berry,” she says, then closes the door behind her.

Rachel watches as Santana walks up her drive and to her front door, turning to wave before she enters. Once Santana’s safely inside, Rachel shakes her head and curses to the empty air around her. She takes a couple of deep breaths, willing her body to return to somewhat normal conditions, before switching on the ignition and starting the short journey home.

-

The thing is, she didn’t actually  _mean_ to start googling the laws of consent in Ohio. There’s absolutely no need for her to do so.

(It turns out, however, that it’s not actually clear if it would be illegal for anything to happen between the two of them. There’s a distinct line when it comes to teachers, but she’s not technically a teacher, so.)

God. She hates herself just a little for even entertaining the idea of letting anything further happen, but she just can’t get Santana out of her mind. Every time she closes her eyes she can see Santana’s face inching towards hers, and those lips, parting ever so slightly as Santana exhaled right before they kissed.

It’s crazy and she needs to just stop. She’s not a weak person, she can do this. Or  _not_ do this, as the case may be.

Switching off her computer, Rachel climbs back into bed, closing her eyes and directing her mind to anything but thoughts of Santana.

-  
She is absolutely a weak person. There’s no other explanation for why she’s backstage in the auditorium with Santana’s mouth pressed against her own, and a hand stroking up the inside of one thigh.

Santana presses two fingers along the front of Rachel’s panties and her eyes roll back. She wants to beg Santana to take her panties off, to touch her, fuck her,  _god_ , to make her come, but she’s still grasping desperately to what little sense of propriety she has left, and if this does happen, which she’s starting to realise is almost inevitable, it most definitely isn’t happening _here_.

No matter how wet she’s getting as Santana continues to press against her.

There are only a couple more practices until Nationals, she just needs to hold out until then. Until she’s just another person in Santana’s life.

-

In the end, they’re so busy perfecting Santana’s solo during the final two sessions that there’s really not a whole lot of time to dwell on anything else.

Nationals is in Cleveland this year, and the school decided it was within daily travelling distance, so they’re driving up on the Monday for their first round, and again on Thursday if they make it through to the finals ( _when_ they make it through to the finals, Santana tells them all forcefully, because she doesn’t get to perform her solo if they don’t make it through, and she  _really_ wants to perform).

-

Of course, they make it through. Rachel has to admit that the group is possibly better than when she was a part of it. They work a lot better during the group numbers, moving through the dance steps with a greater deal of proficiency than they ever achieved during Rachel’s time—even though they’d had two of the best dancers in Brittany and Mike that she’d ever seen.

It’s a tense couple of days until Thursday, when they all pile into the old school bus and head back to Cleveland.

-

Santana absolutely kills her solo, and Rachel can see by the smile on her face as she moves to her place for the group number that she knows just how good she was.

Rachel beams in pride and does her best to out-clap any other member of the audience.

-

They come in second.

Rachel aims several choice words in the direction of the judges when they announce the results. There is no way any of the other performers were better. No way.

Despite that, the ride back to Lima is jubilant; they came in higher than they had the year before, and that is something to celebrate.

When they arrive back at school, there’s a general plan that the kids are going to go celebrate. Mr. Schue invites her to join him for their own celebratory drink, but she still kind of sees him as her teacher and it’s weird for her to socialise with him, so she declines.

She’s just unlocking her car when she hears her name being called by Santana.

“Aren’t you going to go with everyone else?” Rachel asks. “You’ve earned a celebration.”

“No,” Santana says. “I was maybe hoping you could give me a ride home? And then maybe come in for a while?”

“Santana...”

“You want me,” Santana replies. “And I want you.”

“It’s not that easy.”

Rachel’s suddenly aware of how close Santana’s gotten while they were speaking. The hairs on her arm are standing up and she can almost feel their proximity like Santana is actually touching her.

“It’s exactly that easy,” Santana says, then reaches out, cupping Rachel’s cheek in her hand and gently applying pressure until Rachel’s finally looking at her.

“Santana,” she says again, but her voice breaks and then she’s surging forward, kissing Santana hard and fast, not caring that she’s in the middle of the school parking lot and there still might be students—or teachers—around, not caring that it’s entirely inappropriate for her hands to be pushing up the back of Santana’s shirt in a desperate attempt to get at bare skin.

“Take me home,” Santana says—gasps—between kisses. “God, take me home.”

-

It briefly crosses Rachel’s mind to worry about where Santana’s parents are, but then Santana’s pressing her up against the back of the front door, kissing her desperately, trailing a path of hot open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

She’s delirious with the feel of Santana’s mouth everywhere, and she’s almost sure she would let herself be taken right here, fully clothed—all Santana would have to do is slip her panties aside and—

Her knees almost give out when Santana sucks particularly hard in exactly the right spot and she cries out, fingers gripping tight against the back of Santana’s shirt.

“Santana, god.  _Bedroom_ ,” she demands and Santana smirks at the obvious need in her voice.

They stumble upstairs, losing most of their clothing along the way, until Santana opens a door and pulls Rachel inside.

They end up in a tangle of limbs in the middle of Santana’s bed, clad only in their panties, breathing heavily and just kind of staring at each other.

Rachel reaches out her hand, brushing the backs of her fingers over Santana’s chest and down between her breasts. Santana shudders and Rachel can hear the catch in her breath as she continues, stroking lightly against the underside of one breast, then turning her hand so she can cover Santana’s nipple with her palm. It hardens under her touch and moves to slide her middle and forefinger either side, squeezing lightly.

Santana breathes out her name when she squeezes again, then moans and the sound settles as a pulse between Rachel’s legs.

She loses her concentration when Santana brings her own hands into play, sliding palms over her back, her sides, her stomach, everywhere in reach. She scratches lightly, with blunt nails, making Rachel shiver and arch into the touch.

She needs more, she needs more  _now_ , so she tugs on Santana’s wrist until she’s directing her downwards, and Santana continues on her own, fingers slipping effortlessly through Rachel’s arousal. Rachel gasps, twitching her hips towards Santana’s hand and Santana smiles at her eagerness. It’s not something she can help, though. God, she’s been wanting this for so long and denying herself that it’s no wonder she’s about ready to explode from just a few sure touches.

She does her best to wipe the smile from Santana’s face, because she knows she’s not the only one who’s feeling the other side of desperate. She presses two fingers easily inside Santana, and begins a slow, deep thrusting that has Santana crying out and clenching around her.

Their bodies are sliding against each other, nipples brushing occasionally, sending sharp bolts of pleasure throughout Rachel’s body, and  _god_ , Santana’s hot and wet around her fingers, it feels amazing. It’s not going to take much to push her over the edge, and Santana seems to know this, because the fingers circling her clit are moving faster and Santana’s whispering encouraging words in her ear.

-

She comes with Santana’s name tearing from her throat and Santana follows a few seconds after, clenching so tight around her fingers, that Rachel can barely move them.

She’s still recovering when Santana flips her on her back and starts kissing her way downwards. She tries to protest—weakly—that she doesn’t think she can again, but Santana just lets out a low chuckle and slides her tongue around Rachel’s clit and all she can do is press her head back against the pillow and let out a long moan.

-

They’ve been talking quietly for maybe thirty minutes when Santana suddenly turns serious. “So what happens now?” She asks.

“I don’t know,” Rachel replies. “I’m going back to New York in a couple of months, but until then...”

“I’m applying to NYU,” Santana says, turning onto her side and looking down at Rachel with an almost hopeful look on her face.

Rachel laughs. “When did you make that decision?”

“About the time of my third orgasm.”

Rachel swats at Santana’s side, causing them both to break out in giggles. “Orgasms are not a good reason to apply to a college, Santana, and I’m sure you know that!”

“Of course I do. But it was on my list of possible places to apply anyway, and now I’ve got one more pro to add.”

“How about we just see how the next two months work out?” Rachel counters and she never thought she’d be the person suggesting taking things slow, but she knows what she was like at seventeen and  _someone_ needs to be realistic. “And if we can still stand each other by then, we can see what next year brings?”

“Sounds good,” Santana says, settling back down against Rachel and pulling the covers up over them both. “But I’d put money on New York gaining another ex-Ohioan by this time next year. Lots and lots of money.”


End file.
